


you'll see (it ain't all pretty)

by Y_ellow



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (not permanent because it's Deadpool), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst for days, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mention of past Vanessa Carlysle/ Wade Wilson, Self-Harm, Suicide, Wade just really needs a hug, eventual happy ending (probably)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/pseuds/Y_ellow
Summary: The first time Wade sees Spiderman fighting in person, he has to stop and laugh, edge of hysteria building until the sound catches in his throat.Blowing his brains out probably shouldn’t have been Wade’s response to finding his soulmate, and yet here he is. At least his temporary afterlife comes with a Vanessa, like a snarkier and less helpful Janet.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Spider-Man & Deadpool, Spider-Man / Deadpool
Comments: 19
Kudos: 131





	you'll see (it ain't all pretty)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so. Wade’s head is not a happy place. He’s pretty fucked up, and I hope that carries along clearly with how I’ve written him. He’s also not necessarily the most reliable narrator, and definitely has unhealthy coping mechanisms. Don’t be like Wade. 
> 
> Excessive use of parenthesis semi designates the boxes.
> 
> Thank you HeraZ for beta-reading! Any remaining mistakes are mine because I couldn’t resist making some last minute tweaks. :sheepish smile:

It’s a random Tuesday evening, no reason for Wade to be out in full costume other than the sense of boredom permeating his life.

The red suit and veritable arsenal of weapons make him stick out like a sore thumb, but Wade is too lost in his head to care. In any case, New York is home to enough vigilantes and superheroes that most people just shrug and keep their heads down, more preoccupied with their own problems than his.

Watching Blind Al assemble Ikea furniture can only keep him amused for so long, and even Golden Girls reruns don’t do much to distract him from the itch under his skin any more.

Turns out that regular life –even what passes as regular life for a regenerating degenerate– seems utterly mundane after the badassery of his first two movies.

The body count certainly hasn’t been the same, and so much for family _not_ being an f word. They all fucked off pretty quick once the action was over, not that Wade can blame them.

He still really fucking misses Vanessa, too.

Misses the way she would smile at his dumb jokes, misses that she _got_ them, misses the way she made him feel. There’s a lot to miss, the jagged edges of the hole her death punched in his life catching on every little thing just to remind him that he won’t ever get to come home and burry his face between her thighs again.

(Turns out time travel can’t solve everyone’s problems, Cable’s case not-withstanding.)

Life probably can’t get much crummier than finding, losing, and regaining only to _permanently_ lose the love of your life.

(The part where they were about to start a family together is only the diarrhea-icing on a shit-cake.)

He’s still walking around aimlessly, virtual rain cloud dogging his steps, when the unmistakeable sounds of a fight break though the haze of his thoughts. Shouting, and the boom of something large breaking, cut through the din of everyday New York activity with ease. The semi-organized chaos of civilians fleeing follow a few seconds later, panicked shouting adding to the mayhem.

Wade pauses, interest piqued, and let’s his feet carry him closer to the sounds of violence.

The red suit and mask are enough to send the pedestrians scurrying every which way swerving around him. He doesn’t even need to flash his guns at them, and it makes him feel like some kind of immovable object.

(Or like a shark, little fish skirting dangerously close to sharp teeth as they flee from something even meaner).

There’s no police on the scene yet, so Wade can get right up to what he assumes is ground zero without hindrance. There’s a large crater deforming the pavement, water spurting and streaming out from where a water main must have been damage, with none other than New-York’s very own Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman at the centre of it.

Wade watches as Spiderman crawls out of the city’s newest hole, looking a little dusty but still ready to throw down, if the way he’s bouncing on his toes and shaking out his arms is anything to go by. Doc Oct is kindly waiting for the hero to shake the impact off, monologuing about how today is the day he finally cracks the secret ya da ya da ya da.

Wade doesn’t especially care. The web slinger seems to have near weekly face offs with the octopus-themed villain, and as funny as Spiderman is known to be, these scenes do get repetitive after a while.

Besides, Wade is _much_ more interested in admiring the flex of Spiderman’s muscles as he shoots out a web, propelling him in a high arch almost directly over Wade’s head. The spandex of his suit does nothing to hide the hero’s shapely behind and Wade Wilson is always ready to admire that kind of beauty.

Wade briefly entertains the notion of butting in, just for the heck of it. A good pounding (Wade’s good with being pitcher _or_ catcher) might just get him out of his most recent funk. 

Problem is, Wade kind of like-likes Spiderman.

Even worse, Wade has been nursing a crush the size of Ohio since about five minutes after first hearing the arachnid-themed hero mouthing off against some baddie or other on the news, performing impressive feats of acrobatics all the while. The notes he often leaves for the police to find stuck to the webbed up crooks are also a nice touch.

Wade has always appreciated a good sense of humour, and that hasn’t been affected by the cancer, weapon X, or even loosing Vanessa. These days, he’s held together pretty exclusively by sarcasm and ‘your momma jokes’ so if nothing else it’s refreshing to get some new material.

It doesn’t hurt that Spiderman’s ass is _damn fine_ , even more so in person than in the highest definition TV has to offer. Wade could write sonnets about that butt. It’s about on par with Vanesa’s boobs, and that’s really saying something, coming from him.

A little voice (which might be his common sense but might also just be his insecurities talking) pipes up to remind him that stepping on Spiderman’s toes won’t get him within groping distance of that fine booty, which would be an absolute _travesty_.

Wade steps on peoples toes just by virtue of _existing_ , has been told more than once that he could un-alive people just by annoying them. So instead of interfering (jury’s still out if he would be helping or hindering Spiderman anyways), Wade just stands around like a jackass as the fight goes on.

Even after years of living in the city, this is the first time Wade has witnessed Spiderman fighting up close and person, and it’s everything he’s ever hoped for.

Spiderman makes swinging around antagonizing Doc Oct look easy, seemingly always just out of reach. The hero and villain swap quips as often as blows, though Doc Oct is visibly losing patience and getting frustrated with the situation.

Wade gets it. Spiderman is damn near impossible to catch, using his webs to fling himself all over the place, while hindering Doc Oct’s progress with yet more webs. For something that doesn’t inherently have the ability to do damage, Spiderman sure does know how to use his webs effectively.

Wade himself is forced to dodge out of the way, losing an _excellent_ vantage point of Spiderman’s assets in the process, as Doc Oct starts using bits of the street and other rubble as projectiles.

The villain eventually manages to clip Spiderman in the shoulder mid swing, which gives him the edge he needs to grasp the hero in one clawed mechanical arms. The villain flings Spiderman about like a rag doll before he can recover from his injury, and launches him into the air after a particularly vicious flic.

The hero lands face first against the very office building Wade is lurking by, clearly dazed, glass splintering around him as Doc Oct uses his mechanical arms to pin the hero in place like an entomologist would an insect.

Doc Oct is saying something melodramatic and no doubt funny in an ‘I’m cringing so hard that you just said that’ kind of way, but Wade can’t bring himself to listen to a single word. He’s too busy rubbing at his chest, where he can just about feel something squeezing the breath out of him, reflexively checking for an injury.

His pain tolerance has been ridiculously high since Weapon X and the cancer before that (not that it was ever anything to sniff at by most people’s standards) but he still likes to know what’s causing the injuring, at least when he can afford to, isn’t actively being shot at or dismembered. 

Wade rubs at his chest again with a wheeze as the phantom pain of a large weight boring into him builds, as if trying to crush his ribs into dust. Wade has to laugh at that, edge of hysteria building until the sound catches in his throat.

Wade leans heavily against the still intact wall of the building. A large part of him wants to pretend that it’s just indigestion after eating questionable street-meat again, but the feel of a soul-bond is pretty unmistakable.

Like anyone within fifty feet of their soulmate, Wade is experiencing an echo of everything Spiderman feels.

(Unless there’s some random other person still nearby, being flattened into a pancake by debris.) 

Wade holds his breath, watching as Spiderman takes advantage of the glass finally shattering under the strain to wiggle free of the mechanical arms pinning him down. Wade can feel the sting of glass slicing though flesh, and doesn’t need to see the blood staining Spiderman’s suit to know that the sensation is coming from the hero.

Wade doesn’t stay to watch the end of the fight, freely admitting in the privacy of his own mind that he’s running away.

(Spiderman always wins anyways.)

Wade’s not sure what he’s feeling other than a dull sort of panic, but he does know that the next person he has to deal with will be getting a bullet between the eyes, so he books it to one of his nearby safe-houses rather than Sister Margaret’s or the place he still shares with Blind Al.

It takes him all of a minute after stepping into the apartment to pick which gun to eat, mask rolled up to his nose.

Wade pulls the trigger without fanfare, blowing his brains out and sending blood, fragments of skull and bits of brain matter splattering against the wall, like some kind of morbid art nouveau.

When Wade opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of the gold tinged recreation of the apartment he used to share with Vanessa.

He’s not pretty like he sometimes gets to be in this place that stands in for his after-life, bald head covered in pock-marks and open sores and glistening with the blood of his most recent self-inflicted death.

Like he’d hoped, Vanessa is there, waiting for him just out of reach, invisible barrier keeping them on opposite sides of their living room.

Seeing her and knowing that she isn’t quite real is more painful that the dying it takes for him to come here. She’s most likely just a figment of his imagination as his scattered brains regrow, as his flesh and bones knit themselves back together.

Nothing more than a projection to help organize his scattered thoughts, an echo of the woman he loved. Kind of like a snarkier and less helpful Janet.

Wade sits down heavily on the floor, facing Vanessa where she’s still curled up in her chair in the baggy sweatshirt and panties she died in, feet curled up under her body and hands in her lap. She won’t look at him, a slight moue of distaste pinching her lips together.

He doesn’t even really know what he wants to tell her, just knows that he _needed_ to see her, needed even this pale imitation of her badly enough to kill himself to get it.

“Killing yourself shouldn’t be your default when you don’t know what to do, Wade. You used to be so good at problem solving.” Vanessa says eventually, gaze purposefully fixed away from him.

She sounds disappointed, and doesn’t that just feel like a punch to the dick.

Wade’s been here enough to know that suicide isn’t the way to join her for good, and she stopped finding it funny after the hundredth or so time. Especially after all the character growth he went through for Russel.

None of that changes the fact that this place is worlds better than the shit stain his life has turned into. Has always been, if he lets himself feel too maudlin, aside from the brief commercial break of his pre-cancer life with Vanessa. 

“Yeah, well, how else am I supposed to get access to your C-minus-quality advice?” Wade chokes out, strained smile plastered across his face as if that’s enough to hide the unshed tears catching in his eye lashes, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms, to kiss the frown off her face.

They let the silence drag, Wade folding in on himself as unspoken things sit heavily between them, shoulders hunched and arms resting on his bent knees. His thoughts race.

How do you tell the dead love of your life that you’ve finally met your soulmate?

Not that it really matters anyways.

Neither one of them had ever put much stock in the concept of soulmates, happy to take their pleasure from each other. For Wade, the nebulous concept of finding his other half had always palled in comparison to what he’d made with Vanessa. Finding his soulmate would have been on par with Vanessa’s work – it didn’t count unless they wanted it to.

It matters even less now, with Vanessa dead and him cursed to live, stuck on the other side of their living room. They’re not in a great position for a threesome, even with maximum effort, which is what he always imagined would happen if either of them found their soulmates.

And sure, most romantic comedies (and pornos) focus on the fact that a soul bond lets you share pleasure to the point of mind shattering bliss, but everyone knows about the everyday atrocities. The couples who get in accidents together ending up in comas from feedback loops of anguish, the people unhinged enough to harm themselves just to make their soulmates feel it and hurt together.

Wade has seen his share of unhappy pairing, has even contributed to the ugliness by killed half a pair, when the job called for it.

(Even monsters can be loved, not every monster is loved by another monster.)

Wade and Vanessa had their own wounds and sore spots, adding someone else’s to the mix permanently just seemed _messy_. They didn’t need a soul-bond to be connected, to love each other, to want to start a family together.

Maybe it’s because his brains are quit literally decorating the walls and floor of his safe-house, but Wade is having an incredibly hard time wrapping his head around the concept of Spiderman as his soulmate. 

“I don’t know what to do, Ness.” Wade says eventually, voice small, words slipping free without conscious thought. Even now, months after her death, she’s always who he turns to when he’s feeling lost, when he needs advice. He might have felt embarrassed by the admission if it wasn’t enough to finally get her to look at him.

“I know baby,” she says simply, voice incredibly fond. “Why don’t you tell me about him?” She adds, giving him a knowing look, lopsided smile dimpling her cheek.

Wade doesn’t bother acting surprised. Of course she knows without him needing to say the words out loud. She’s just a figment of his imagination, remember?

“I don’t really know him.” Wade says eventually, pensive frown furrowing his brow, hand absentmindedly reaching up to let his knuckles brush up against the barrier in an effort to reach her.

It’s not a lie. He knows approximately as much about Spiderman as he does any of the other spandex wearing freaks running around his corner of the world: powers, weaknesses, origin story, and _modus operandi_.

Useful for any merc business that might require him to dodge or fight the members of that crowd, but probably not the best information to have about one’s soulmate.

“Sounds to me like you need to get to know him, then.” Vanessa says, “You can’t go about wooing your soulmate if you don’t know what he likes.” There’s a teasing smile pulling at her lips, and stealing the breath from Wade’s.

“You giving me permission, Ness?” Wade asks, rocking forwards on his knees, resting his forehead against the barrier as it flares gold at his touch.

“You deserve some happiness, baby.” Vanessa says, finally getting up from her spot to crouch in front of him, hand against the barrier as if to caress the crown of his head.

“I was happy with you.” Wade says, feeling almost petulant. “I’d rather just stay here.” He adds, shutting his eyes against the sight of her slight head shake. He knows he can’t, know it by his hundreds of past visits to this gold tinged place, knows it by the building sensation of pain signalling his approaching resurrection.

“I’ll still be here when the time comes, Red, no matter what.” Vanessa says with finality, pressing the palm of her hand flat against the barrier keeping them apart. She knows his time is almost up as well as he does.

Wade’s eyes fly open to drink in the sight of her as he feels the world around them start to shift, his own hand against hers so that he can almost feel (imagine) the warmth of her body.

“I’m no good, Ness. I couldn’t even throw the cream cheese spreader good enough to save you, what I am supposed to do with a soulmate? I’ll fuck it up, somehow.” Wade spits out in a rush, bracing himself against the barrier to fight the pull of wakefulness. There never seems to be enough time.

“Don’t you remember, baby? That’s part of the fun.”

Vanesa doesn’t stop smiling as he’s pulled away, arms reaching beseechingly for her as if this time will be different, as if he still has a shot at saving her.

Wade comes to with Vanessa’s name still on his lips. He opens his eyes to the sight of the water-stained ceiling, with its brand new and slightly bloody bullet hole standing out starkly from the others.

His head is pounding and his skin feels tacky from laying in a puddle of his own blood.

It’s been long enough that the puddle of blood has cooled to room temperature, soaking the material of his suit. It feels like stepping into a puddle while wearing socks, only all over because the parts of his suit not drenched in blood are covered in thicker things.

Dying is so undignified.

Wade gives himself five more minutes to wallow in his self-pity (literally) before forcing himself to his feet with a wet ripping sound as the dried blood suction cups him to the linoleum floor. It kind of makes him feel like an especially well chewed piece of gum being scraped off from the underside of a shoe, and isn’t that just a metaphor for his entire life.

At least he offed himself somewhere easy to clean, this time.

He likes this apartment for several reasons, and doesn’t want to ditch it just because cleaning up after himself is too much of a chore to bother. No one here ever questions the sounds of gun fire, for one, and it’s within walking distance of a to-die-for (ha) old school family run Italian eatery.

Wade peels the suit from his skin with a pained hiss on his way to the small bathroom, dropping each piece without care.

Reviving seems to send his mutation in overdrive, cells ferociously battling the cancer that’s continuously ravaging his body, dying and regenerating in an endless cycle. His skin peels and scabs in quick succession, flaking off in a garish repeat of the first time his mutation activated. Eventually the regeneration will win, and his cells will settle back down into the mess of scar tissue he’s still not quite gotten used to.

(A permanent death is too much to ask for at this point, even if he is firmly Team Cancer.)

Until then, everything hurts, most of all his head. Brains may not have nerve endings, but they don’t seem to be in short supply around where the bullet entered and left his body.

The water feels like tiny knives against his skin as he steps under the spray, but Wade welcomes the sensation. 

He deserves it.

Wade hasn’t done a lot of good with his life, even when he’s tried, but he’ll be damned if he drags Spiderman down with him.

Heroes shouldn’t end up with fuck ups like him as soulmates. The best thing Wade can do for Spiderman is to stay as far away from him as possible.

Whatever his Vanessa-subconscious seems to think, Wade doesn’t deserve any amount of happiness at the expense of someone like Spiderman.

Maybe not at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it please leave a comment on your way out! 
> 
> The rest of this is still more thought than written word, so constructive criticism welcome.


End file.
